


And Many Returns

by Ariel_Tempest



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apologies, Arguments, Fluff, Full Circle, Humor, Island of the Gays, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, Romance, Sequel, Society Drama, Surprises, Things Get Better, Weddings, story time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest
Summary: When Lord Hexham's cousin gets married, Thomas and Richard return to Downton Abbey.
Relationships: Canon Couples - Relationship, Peter Pelham/OMC, Thomas Barrow/Richard Ellis
Comments: 87
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alex51324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex51324/gifts).
  * Inspired by [But Among Our Own Selves We'll Be Free, or, Thomas and the Island of the Gays](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070534) by [Alex51324](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex51324/pseuds/Alex51324). 



> Thanks always to my beta reader, Hinney_B, and google thanks, plus a few, to Alex51324 for not only creating the island and letting me play there, but for volunteering to look this one over. I am forever grateful.
> 
>  **Note:** While my natural inclination with Island!Thomas is to leave his romantic standing as vague as possible and let people fill in the ship of their choice, for this one I needed him married and for us to see his husband. Richard made the most sense.

The first thing Thomas noted as he stepped out of _The Island Beacon_ and into the surrounding night was the lack of rain. It took him by such surprise that he actually looked up into the blackness to confirm that he wasn’t missing something. The mainland papers that had come on boat day proclaimed this to be the driest December on record, but you couldn’t prove it by the weather here. If anything, it seemed wetter than usual, although he dimly remembered thinking that the past two years as well. It might just be that he forgot how wet winter was in the middle of summer. The second thing he noticed was a figure walking down high street towards him. This was less surprising. Between the bakery, which was closing down for the night, and the pub, _The Beacon_ was on a well trod path. However, as the figure drew nearer, a familiar voice called, “Is that you, Mr. Barrow?”

Thomas paused, having just shut the door behind him. “It is. Good evening to you, Lord Hexham.”

“And to you as well,” the other man returned, crossing the remaining distance between them and drawing to a stop directly in front of Thomas. “I’d actually hoped to catch you before you left. Do you mind if I walk you home?”

“Not at all.” There was a time when he’d have been surprised at the other man seeking him out, particularly. However, Lord Hexham had learned long ago that when it came to _The Beacon’s_ finances, it was best to approach Thomas or Richard first. Between the two of them they could normally talk Kit into seeing reason in relatively short order. Figuring that there was some budgeting issue, Thomas turned his feet toward home. “What’s on your mind?”

Lord Hexham fell into pace behind him. “I’ve a bit of a personal favor to ask, actually. Of you and Mr. Ellis both.” He paused, then gave a little half laugh. “Dashed embarrassing, really, and I shall quite understand if you tell me to go soak my head.”

Thomas gave him a sideways glance. The poor lighting rather obscured his face, but his posture was a bit more withdrawn than normal. “I can’t imagine what you’d ask that would make me tell you that,” he said, quite honestly. The years had proven the other man to be quite kind and surprisingly conscientious, for a toff. Oh, he had all of the normal upper crust traits - no idea how things really worked, an impression that money could solve all ills, that sort of thing. However, once you pointed out to him the reality of a situation, he didn’t fuss, and he was more than willing to learn. They’d even shown him how to operate the printing press, in case he ever needed to know how. He hadn’t, but Thomas appreciated the show of willingness.

“Yes, well, hopefully we’re not about to find out.” There was a pause, a sigh, and the other man started his request. “You see, back in September I received word that my cousin is getting married. My favorite cousin, as it turns out.” He paused again and added, “That is to say the only cousin who is actually pleased to claim the relationship.”

Thomas understood that one. Allies, of any sort, were something the island prized above gold.

“At any rate, he invited me and Victor to come.”

“Both of you?” That was a surprise. 

Even in the darkness, he could see the other man’s smile. “Yes, well, you can see why he’s my favorite. At any rate, it was easy enough to say yes back then, but now that the date is drawing near, I confess, I’m growing nervous. I’ve not had much to do with the rest of the aristocracy since the war, you see, and when I have it was always in my territory, not theirs.”

Thomas could appreciate the problem. After five years on the island, the idea of going back to England and facing the real world head on was daunting. Mrs. Hughes had become a regular correspondent, to his surprise and pleasure, so he was still in touch with the realities of the mainland, beyond what was covered in the paper, but he was none-the-less quite content to live apart from it for the rest of his life, thank you. Come to think of it, Lady Edith was supposed to be getting married this month too. Perhaps he should send a card. “What is your cousin’s title, if I may ask?”

“Estate agent.” They were moving into the side streets now, so it was entirely too dark to see expressions, but the smile was still evident in Lord Hexham’s voice. “Oh, he’s my heir as well, but with luck he’ll never have to claim the title. Heaven knows I wouldn’t wish the burden on him. Still, if it weren’t for him keeping everything under control at home, I wouldn’t be able to avoid everyone else. So you see, I’m quite indebted to him and would be the worst sort of coward if I let the prospect of dealing with my peers scare me off.”

“I can see that, yes,” Thomas frowned. There was something that wasn’t adding up here. “But how many peers are going to be at the wedding of an estate agent, even if he is your heir?” And what on earth did it have to do with him?

“That’s the thing,” Lord Hexham continued, a tension in his voice that suggested they were drawing near the heart of the matter. “He’s marrying a bit above his station. Not too high, mind. The second daughter of an Earl. In fact, I’ve been told you know her. Lady Edith Crawley?”

The name caught him completely off balance. “Oh. Blimey. So that’s who she’s marrying, then?” Mrs. Hughes hadn’t given him many details, only that the wedding was to be the end of the year and from what she knew of the groom he was a nice, dependable young man. There had been some unpleasantness with Lady Mary back when they’d first become engaged, apparently, and the whole thing had been called off for a time, but now it was back on and everyone was scrambling like mad to be ready. That was all. He supposed that after Lady Sybil had run off with the chauffeur he shouldn’t be surprised by Lady Edith marrying an estate agent.

“It is. Which brings me to my request.” The other man took a deep breath and charged ahead, “You see, while I love Victor dearly and value his support in this, I would like to have as many people on my side in this as possible and preferably someone who knows the lay of the land, as it were.”

Uncertain he was actually hearing this, Thomas repressed a laugh. “You want me to come with you?”

“If you’re willing,” Lord Hexham confirmed. “And Mr. Ellis as well, of course. I had thought that, for the time we’re at Downton at least, the two of you might pose as our valets? Victor’s and mine? As I said, I understand that this is asking quite a lot and will not fault you if you tell me to go soak my head.”

Thomas stared, gobsmacked. If it had been anyone else, he would absolutely have told them just that. As it was, he walked on in silence, trying to wrap his mind around the request and all it entailed. Lord Hexham held his peace, letting him think. On the one hand, it would be a step backwards in more ways than one. He would be stepping back into service and into service at Downton Abbey at that, albeit with a different employer. Although, even sleeping in the attic, he’d still be a guest. No one would dare call the police on a guest without hard evidence, and even there they might not to avoid scandal. There was still a very real danger, though, in leaving the asylum of the island and going back to the mainland, short period of time or no. 

On the other hand, while the other man would never put it in as many words, he owed Lord Hexham quite a lot. The whole island did, really. If it weren’t for him and his money, easily half of the cottages wouldn’t exist. The fire brigade wouldn’t have an engine. Given that there had been a stove fire at the bakery two years prior that had threatened to spread to the nearby buildings, no one was going to take that one for granted. Who knew how far things could have gone, without that engine handy? And the man wouldn’t ask if he weren’t in earnest. “How long did you plan on being gone?” he asked, carefully. “Only there’s the paper to think of.”

Apparently that had not slipped Lord Hexham’s mind, as Thomas had thought it might. “I’m afraid you’d miss an issue, although I think we could work things so it was only one. The wedding is on New Year’s Eve, which is a Thursday. Boat day, of course, is on Friday, so what I thought was that we could go over the Friday before the wedding and head to Brancaster Castle, my ancestral home. Bertie will be there and while I’m not certain how many of the old staff remain, the butler and the housekeeper are still the ones I grew up with. Between that and the fact I’m still everyone’s employer, we should be reasonably safe. You and Mr. Ellis would be my guests there.”

The thought was clearly a bit more comforting to him than it was to Thomas, but then Lord Hexham had never met O’Brien. He, like most toffs Thomas had encountered, had no reason to suspect their servants of wrong doing and would probably consider such a thing cutting one’s nose to spite their face. They might, Thomas reflected, have a bit of a point there, but first hand experience told him it happened anyway. There again, if the butler and housekeeper had been there long as all that, surely they at least knew better. With no other senior staff, they should be the only guiding hands for the younger servants, which at least limited the danger.

“Then,” Lord Hexham continued, “The day before the wedding, we could head for Downton, spend two nights, and head back to Brancaster on Friday. I’ve talked to the captain of the boat already and he’d be willing to shift our boat day to Saturday that week.” He paused, then added, “I had also thought that perhaps you might write up something for an article while we were over there? I don’t know what. I can’t think why anyone here should care about a society wedding in Yorkshire, but I’m not the journalist.”

A little over a week gone, then, but only two days at Downton. Thomas chewed his lower lip in thought. It might not be so bad, if Richard was there. “How soon do you need an answer?”

“Oh, the morning of will be sufficient!” Lord Hexham replied with a laugh. He sounded relieved that Thomas was even willing to think about it. “You’ll want to talk it over with Mr. Ellis, after all, and Kit. I shan’t count on you, unless you say yes.”

“Alright, then,” Thomas nodded. They’d entered the row of cottages and if he looked down the way, he could see the lights on in his own. It was Richard’s night to cook and he’d been hinting at trying something a bit above their usual. Thomas had been looking forward to it all day, with only a little trepidation. Richard was normally a good judge of what he could handle in the kitchen. “I’ll talk to Richard about it tonight and, if he’s willing to consider it, Kit tomorrow. I’ll give you an answer as soon as I have one.”

“Thank you.” There was a deep, unaffected warmth in Lord Hexham’s voice. “Even if you say no, thank you for considering it. I’ll hear from you later.”

“Good night then, m’lord.”

“Good night, Mr. Barrow.”

* * *

“Are you still awake?” Richard’s voice made its groggy way through the blackness.

“Mm,” Thomas sighed in agreement. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t.” There was a shifting sound and Richard’s arms settled around him. 

With a smile, Thomas snuggled backwards into his husband’s warmth.

“Still thinking about Lord Hexham’s offer?”

“Yeah.”

“We have over a week to decide, you know.”

Thomas sighed again. “I know. My mind just won’t give it a rest is all.”

Lips brushed softly against his neck, soothing. “Why’s it eating at you so badly?”

“I’m not sure I can explain, quite.” Frowning into the darkness, Thomas tried to pin down the source of deep unease. “I suppose it scares me, in a way, and that makes me angry.” The attempt earned him an encouraging sound and another kiss, so he continued. “This place, this island, is home in a way no place else on earth has ever been. I don’t want to leave it.” The point of a sanctuary was that you were safe there. If they returned to the mainland, all of the old dangers would be there, waiting for them. Waiting for something to go wrong. The thought of winding up in jail himself, unable to return was bad enough. The thought of it happening to RIchard was worse. He laid his hand over his husband’s and squeezed. “On the other hand, if we can’t leave, then we’re trapped, aren’t we?” No point in avoiding one prison, if they just made themselves another.

“Mm.” Dr. L would, no doubt, have told him try not to think about it like that. Fitzroy (Thomas had taken up the habit of calling him by his last name since there were now five Peters on the island) would likely have said the same. That was part of why he’d married Richard. Richard simply said, “That’s fair, I suppose,” without any judgment at all. “Why would you want to go? Other than to help Lord Hexham, that is. You’ve never shown much desire to go back, even to visit.”

“I don’t, really,” Thomas admitted. “I just want to be able to if I did is all. And I suppose it would be nice to see Mrs. Hughes again, and Phyllis. Mrs. Hughes says my review somehow got her in, don’t ask me how. I guess I must have found a polite enough way of saying ‘you hired a convicted thief who’d served his whole sentence, why not one who was let out early for good behavior?’”

“I thought Mr. Bates hadn’t really stolen anything?”

“Not the point. The point is, that’s all I had to say in her favor. I haven’t seen her since we were kids. And it shouldn’t have worked.”

“Alright, fair.” Richard allowed. “Anything else?”

Thomas thought a bit more, then shook his head. “The rest is all petty. I shouldn’t.”

Richard drew back abruptly at that. “Who are you?” he demanded, “And what have you done with my husband?”

“Oh, thank you for that!” Thomas laughed, swatting at the other man’s arm, since that was all he could reach effectively.

“In all seriousness, I took you as you were,” Richard reminded him, settling back down and rubbing his nose up against the sensitive skin under Thomas’s ear. “You’re allowed to be a bit petty now and again.”

“Alright, then,” Thomas chuckled. “Dr. R. once told me that the best revenge is living well, but if you can live well where other people can see it, all the better. I suppose part of me wants to show you off, even if it is a foolhardy risk. To let the others, particularly Mr. Carson, know that I’ve managed to find someone and be happy despite them.” He paused, then added, “Not to mention I want to see the look on ol’ Carson’s face when he sees Victor’s beard.”

Richard laughed, warm and rich in the darkness. “You’re horrid, love.”

“You married me.”

“And I don’t regret it a bit.”

* * *

“The advantage, I suppose, to having a small staff is that we won’t have to bring in extra chairs for the servants’ dinner,” Mr. Carson sighed as he topped off the sherry glasses.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head at her husband, smiling. “We’re not so understaffed as all of that, Charlie,” she chided him gently. “And the party is not so large. We’d have plenty of room even if we were at full staff. Speaking of which, has Mr. Molesley agreed to help us?”

“He has, at least for the day of the wedding. Lord knows what we’ll do the night before.”

“Ask some of the visiting valets, as always,” his wife shrugged. “The world hasn’t gotten so modern for that to go out of practice.” She paused, debating. She had news, and it was news he’d have to hear, eventually. The question was whether giving him as much advance notice as possible would help him get used to the idea, or if it would be better to tell him a day or two in advance and trust the shock to carry him through. She watched him morosely sip his wine and decided she’d better do it now. “Speaking of valets, I’ve had a letter from Mr. Barrow.”

Mr. Carson grimaced around his mouthful of sherry and set the glass down. “I wish to hear that he is well and nothing further.”

“I wish I could tell you that and nothing further,” she replied, her tone pleasantly matter of fact. “But the truth of the matter is that he is well and will be here for Lady Edith’s wedding.”

“What?” The word tried to come out both as thunder and a gasp, which resulted in sort of an awkward squawk. “What makes him think he can simply invite himself?”

His wife tsked at him. “He’s done no such thing. Mr. Pelham’s cousin, Lord Hexham, lives in Thomas’s community,” she watched his jaw gape open at the thought of a peer living in such a village, but she kept going before he could protest. “Mr. Pelham has invited him and his particular friend along, and they in turn are bringing Mr. Barrow and Mr. Ellis as valets.” Making some small effort to put a positive face on things she suggested, “Perhaps the two of them will be willing to help with the table.”

A visible shudder ran through the butler. “Let us pray that won’t be necessary!”

The proclamation earned him an eye roll.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they reached Northumberland, Thomas was starting to believe the papers that claimed a dry December. Not only was their approach to Brancaster castle dry, but a few rays of sun found their way through the clouds, edging the high, girdling wall and towers of the building with gold. Thomas, seated between Richard and the window, had only one thought upon seeing it. “Blimey, glad I never had to serve dinner there. How on earth would you get the soup to the table before it went cold?”

Both Richard and Lord Hexham laughed. 

“The kitchen and the dining room are, fortunately, not on opposite sides of the building,” Lord Hexham promised him. To the visible consternation of the chauffeur, he had taken the front seat, leaving the back to his guests. “Admittedly, most of the food doesn’t arrive piping hot, but the soup is at least a comfortable temperature and the souffles are always properly light and fluffy.”

Richard clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t boast too loudly of that, if I were you, My Lord. My experience is that the upper echelons of the peerage consider cold soup and falling souffles a privilege of their station. If your staff can get you fed in an appealing manner, your castle must be too small.”

Not for the first time, Thomas wondered where, exactly, Richard had worked before the police picked him up. Their host simply laughed again and pointed out some feature in the landscape that he’d always been fond of.

It took longer to actually reach the castle than Thomas had thought it would. The road wound about quite a bit, snaking through open grasslands and patches of wood. He suspected that Victor, at least, would spend a good portion of their visit out sketching, assuming the rain held off. Then again, the sunlight disappeared as they drove through the high gates. It was still at least dry when they pulled to a stop in front of the doors to the castle. Someone must have been keeping watch for them, because the doors were already open. Since Lord Hexham was meant to live in the building, no matter how many years he’d been away, the whole staff hadn’t been trotted out to greet them, only two men. One of the men was in livery, clearly the butler. The other man was dressed in civilian clothes and walked forward to greet Lord Hexham with a firm handshake and a warm smile. “Cousin Peter, it’s so good to see you. It’s been an age. Thank you for coming.”

“Bertie,” Lord Hexham replied, returning the hand clasp. Even without the familiar greetings, there was just enough family resemblance to tell they were related, although Thomas privately thought Lord Hexham was a bit better looking. “You couldn’t have kept me away. If I’d still been in Tangiers, I’d have flown back to England for the occasion.” He paused, then added, “Of course, if I’d still been in Tangiers I’d probably be dead of malaria.”

Mr. Pelham winced. “Don’t joke, please, especially since it’s true.”

“Sorry.” With a smile, Lord Hexham turned to the rest of the group from the island, all of whom had climbed out of the car by now. “Here, allow me to introduce people. This is Mr. Thomas Barrow, journalist for _The Island Beacon_. He used to work at Downton Abbey, so he agreed to come along as my valet and sort of native guide for this excursion.”

A bit surprised to be introduced before Victor, Thomas smiled and tipped his hat in greeting. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

As Richard was introduced, as the business manager of _The Beacon_ and part time tailor, Thomas theorized that Lord Hexham must be saving the best for last, as it were. He was proven right when their host, absolutely beaming, ushered his husband forward and introduced him as, “My closest and dearest friend, Mr. Victor Harris.”

Thomas found himself holding his breath. True, Lord Hexham had said his cousin had invited them both. And he’d heard stories of Mrs. Chessman as long as he’d been on the island, so he knew there were people, family members, who truly didn’t mind. Still, it felt like he was in a trap, standing there and watching Victor stretch out his hand to this reasonably dressed, respectable estate agent.

“Mr. Harris,” Mr. Pelham’s smile, if anything, grew warmer, and he shook the offered hand the way he had his cousin’s. “Welcome to Brancaster castle. I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you.”

“And I you,” Victor replied, all propriety, although you could tell he was smiling broadly, even with his beard. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“If I hadn’t, Peter wouldn’t have come, I’m sure,” the other man confided. “Only fair. I wouldn’t have deserved it, in that case. I am sorry I missed your…ceremony.”

“Think nothing of it!” his cousin laughed, slinging an arm around his shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “You had more important things to do, after all, like meeting young ladies.” Lord Hexham steered the other man toward the door, arm still around his shoulder. Victor followed. “That was when it happened, wasn’t it? The shooting party?”

“It was, although it didn’t get at all serious until later. At the time she was just a nice young lady guest who’d chatted with me during the shooting. I’d never have believed she’d want to marry me!”

Lord Hexham tsked. “Really, Bertie, every nice young lady with any claim to good taste would - hello, Fellowes -”

“Welcome home, My Lord.”

“- Be overjoyed to marry you. Truly.”

After a moment’s hesitation where Thomas looked at Richard and Richard looked at him, both of them clearly wondering if they should take the bags in themselves or leave them for the footmen, Thomas shrugged and followed their host and his cousin, empty handed, past the butler and into the house. They were, he figured, guests. Let the servants earn their keep.

* * *

“I admit, I’m getting nervous,” Mr. Pelham confessed. Dinner was past, a light affair that, as promised, had still been reasonably warm as well as quite tasty. The group of them were comfortably ensconced in the smoking room, putting it to its intended use except for Mr. Pelham who had passed on the cigar his cousin offered and relegated himself to a glass of brandy.

Thomas had taken the offered cigar, quite willing to save his cigarettes. 

“That’s perfectly normal,” his cousin assured him, holding out his glass for Fellowes to refill. The Marquess was sitting on the sofa, glass in one hand, cigar in the other. Victor sat next to him, far too close for propriety. No one commented. “I know I was so nervous, I was convinced I’d be ill. I kept running through everything that might possibly go wrong, from forgetting my vows to Father Timothy being seized with a bout of coughing in the middle of the whole thing.”

“At least you didn’t imagine him having a heart attack and dying on us,” Victor noted mildly. “That was my nightmare.”

“Mine too,” Richard volunteered. “Well, one of them at any rate.”

Observing Mr. Pelham’s eyes widen slightly at the suggestion, his eyebrows hitching up and in at the corners, Thomas took pity on the man. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that here. Father Travis may be old as dirt, but he was in perfect health last I saw him, and Mrs. Hughes hasn’t said anything to make me think that’s changed.”

“So what are you nervous about?” Lord Hexham asked, giving the groom-to-be a querying look that even Thomas, happily married man that he was, had to admit was endearing. Despite the class difference, no one on the island had so much as whispered about Victor marrying the aristocrat for his money, and expressions like that were a good part of why. “In particular, that is?”

“Well, the usual things, from the sound of it,” Mr. Pelham admitted with a somewhat chagrined smile. “Except the priest dying part.” He raised his glass to Thomas with a grateful nod. Thomas returned the gesture. “And I’m not really worried about the family coming up with last minute objections,” he continued the soothing vein. “The only one I’d worry about there is Lady Mary and given that she’s the one who patched things up between us, she’s not going to undo her hard work.”

Thomas frowned at that. “Sorry, Mrs. Hughes mentioned the incident to me, but didn’t give a lot in the way of details. I thought Lady Mary was the one who caused the rift to start with?”

“She was,” Mr. Pelham confirmed. “But then she felt poorly for it and made amends.” He paused, then added almost guiltily, “It’s complicated.”

That, Thomas could easily believe. “With Lady Mary, it generally is.”

The two of them exchanged a knowing smile, but Mr. Pelham’s faded quickly. He looked into the bottom of his glass as if it might hold some sort of answers. “But I confess, part of me is afraid someone else will interrupt. She’s been engaged before, you see. Twice. And while neither fellow is going to show up and protest, the one having left her at the altar, the other being dead, I can’t help but worry that someone else will show up out of the woodwork. Some childhood sweetheart that she’s not heard of in years or something, and she’ll suddenly realize that’s where true happiness lies.”

Lord Hexham scoffed gently at that. Thomas might have as well, but he found himself thinking of the war. There had been that soldier who claimed to be Patrick Crawley. Hell, he couldn’t find it wholly unbelievable that the dead fiance would suddenly walk in mid-ceremony, miraculously alive. It was bloody unlikely, of course, but he’d seen stranger. The whole affair of the Turkish gentleman came to mind. That wouldn’t help get Mr. Pelham to the altar, though, so he simply said, “I understand that one. I was so nervous when Father Timothy asked if anyone knew why we shouldn’t wed, I thought I was going to pass out.”

“Really?” Richard, leaning on the back of the armchair he’d claimed, looked down at him. “Who did you think was going to object?”

“Syl,” Thomas replied, repressing an eye roll. “I couldn’t believe he was going to let me get married before him without a fuss!”

The room erupted with laughter, except for Mr. Pelham, who looked politely baffled, and the butler, who stood in the corner doing his best imitation of some very interesting taxidermy.

* * *

Thomas smoothed the front of his jacket and had just closed the wardrobe when there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” 

He wasn’t at all surprised when the door opened and his husband walked in, wrapped in his dressing gown. He looked around, appraising Thomas’s lodgings. “Nice of them to give us rooms right next to each other.”

“It is,” Thomas agreed, crossing over to sit on the bed. “No matter what Lord Hexham said, I was half expecting to be on opposite sides of the building. Or sharing that one room they always save for the relatives no one really wants around.”

“What, the horridly drafty one with the creaky floorboards?” Richard laughed. 

“And the oddly coloured stain that won’t come out of the carpet that may or may not be blood. I swear, every house has one.”

Richard crossed over and sat next to him, leaning against the bed post for more comfortable conversation. “Mmm, the rumor at my old house was that the wallpaper was dyed with arsenic and staying there would make you ill.”

That seemed a bit extreme for any aristocrat Thomas knew. “Was it true?” 

“No. Not when I worked there, at least.”

Thomas chuckled, then yawned. He glanced over at the pillows lying, invitingly, at the head of the bed, then at Richard. “Did you want to sleep here tonight? Or does your bed look more comfortable?”

Richard pretended to think about it. “I think they look about equally comfortable. We should probably sleep on both of them, just to be certain. We can start with yours and sleep on mine tomorrow.”

“We’ll be here several days,” Thomas grinned, playing along. “So if the first tests prove inconclusive, we can try a couple more.” On a more serious note, he added, “We should enjoy them while we can. I promise, they’ll be better than anything we get at Downton, and there our rooms will be as far apart as possible. Carson will see to that.”

“We could always take rooms somewhere else,” Richard suggested. “We might be able to get rooms next to each other at the pub.”

Thomas scoffed lightly at that. “Wouldn’t dare, unless you meant a pub in Thirsk or Ripon. Or did you want to see York again?” he teased. 

To his surprise, Richard was all seriousness as he asked, “Would you mind, if I said yes?”

After a moment’s thought, he replied, “No. Why would I? That is, not much fun to be had in York, that I can think of, and we’d have to be sure we made it to Downton in time to dress Themselves for the wedding. But if you want to…” He frowned a little, thrown off kilter by the other man’s attitude. “Do you want to?”

“I’m not sure,” Richard admitted, playing with a loose thread on the comforter. “I keep feeling that, if I’m that close, I should stop in and see my parents. After all, I may never have the opportunity again.”

Oh. Of course, there would be that. Thomas rarely thought of his family, and never of trying to contact them, but he had wondered, on occasion. He supposed if you had the sort of family that you kept touch with, there would be an impulse to stop by. “Well, I won’t stop you,” he assured the other man. He even attempted a small smile, but it didn’t last long. Something about the idea of Richard going to see his parents made Thomas’s stomach knot up. “I could even stay at Downton, if you like. Give you some time alone.”

Richard met his eye, then reached out and smoothed a hand down his cheek. He made the same attempt at smiling, although his lasted a bit longer. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?” he asked, making Thomas blink. He’d never thought of himself as something the other man would be proud of. “You’ve come so far from the suspicious, aloof man who first showed up on the island. It’s been beautiful to watch.” He hesitated, obviously choosing his words before continuing. “I don’t want to hide you away, I want to show you off. I know, we’ll have to at least be discreet at Downton, but with my family…” He shook his head. “If I go to see my parents, you’re coming with me.”

It was difficult to breathe at times like these. Since his throat was too choked to talk, Thomas settled for turning his face into the hand still caressing his cheek and pressing a kiss to the palm. Taking a deep breath, he managed, “I’m proud of you too. I’m proud of us. What I said about being worried about Syl was true, but my biggest fear was that you’d realize half way through that you’d made a mistake, and I’d be left there, like Lady Edith with her first fiance, watching you walk off.”

“I’d never,” Richard started to protest, but Thomas cut him off.

“I know. I knew then too, really. I just wanted everything to be perfect so badly…” He laughed a little at his past self. “The point is, I don’t want to hide that either, even at Downton. And to be honest, we can’t, at least not from the people who know me. Even if we weren’t married, they’d assume. I don’t think anyone will make a fuss, not with O’Brien, Alfred, and Jimmy all gone, but even if they do, I’m not going to deny a thing. Not to them.”

“Not afraid of the police anymore?”

Thomas chuckled at that. “Naw. Maybe a little, but Carson fears scandal above all. As long as we don’t give them reason, they’ll keep their mouths shut. And I’m not going to give them reason, but,” he stretched out his left hand, clearly displaying the gold ring he’d had Fitzroy track down for him. Richard had one to match. “I’m not taking off my handcuff while we’re there.”

“All right, then. I won’t either.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once read an article on using arsenic for green dye that included an anecdote about an Italian ambassador to Queen Victoria's court becoming ill because of the wallpaper in his room. An investigation was launched and the room was immediately re-papered.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas slowed to a stop. Richard kept going for three paces before he realized his husband was no longer at his side and turned around. “Thomas?” he asked with a concerned frown. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Thomas replied, although his voice was distant. He ran his eyes over the open expanse of the servants’ yard. “It’s just suddenly everything’s so…familiar. Wasn’t ready for it.” It had been five years, but it might as well have been yesterday. There was the patch of wall where he and O’Brien had spent so much time smoking, trading secrets and plots. There was the table where he’d fixed the family’s clocks. There was the door to the downstairs that he’d walked through a million times, where O’Brien had welcomed him back from the war, and where he’d left the abbey for the last time. He shook his head, trying to clear the overwhelming feeling.

Richard walked back and laid a hand lightly on his arm. “We can still go to the pub, if you like,” he offered.

“No.” Thomas shook his head again, this time in denial, and smiled a little. “No, I’m alright. And it would be rude, after we’ve told Mrs. Hughes we’d be here.” With one last, deep breath, he started for the door. “I am alright, I promise.” Whether he believed him or not, Richard followed him inside. They paused to hang their coats and hats, then continued on past the butler’s pantry and Mrs. Hughes’s sitting room. Both doors were open, both rooms unoccupied, for which Thomas was admittedly grateful. He wouldn’t have minded running into Mrs. Hughes, was looking for her in fact, but he’d rather not have Mr. Carson be the first familiar face he saw. 

He reached the end of the entry hall and was debating where he was most likely to find the housekeeper at this time of day when someone stepped out of the servant’s hall, drawing to a sharp halt with a surprised, “Thomas? Is that you?”

“Hello, Daisy,” Thomas smiled at the girl, although she was hardly a girl anymore. She’d grown since last he’d seen her, and her face had lost a lot of it’s girlish roundness. “Did Mrs. Hughes not tell people I was coming?”

“Not that I heard,” Daisy frowned. “Although I might have just missed it, seeing as I spend most of my time in the kitchen.” That seemed unlikely, given how much Mrs. Patmore liked to grouse about such things, and he said so, but Daisy only shrugged. “She’s been more concerned with the food for the wedding than anything for the past month, so maybe not.” Then she surprised him by smiling. “Either way, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to be here.” It should have been a lie, but her smile threw him off balance. It was nice to have someone from his past smile at him like that. He suddenly remembered that he wasn’t alone and turned to the man behind him. “Daisy, this is my good friend, Mr. Ellis. Richard, Daisy, the kitchen maid.”

“Under cook, thank you,” Daisy corrected him, prim and cheeky all at once. Where had that come from? “Did Mrs. Hughes not tell you in her letters?”

“Ah, no, or if she did, I’d forgotten. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” This time her smile was all cheek. “If you’re looking for Mrs. Hughes, she’s-”

“Daisy!” a familiar voice bellowed from the kitchen. Somethings, it seemed, never changed. “How long does it take to get a book? Get in here, these cakes aren’t going to bake themselves!” 

One thing that had changed was that rather than cringing, Daisy simply rolled her eyes. “Coming, Mrs. Patmore! I were only saying hello to our guests!” She looked back at Thomas and Richard. “Anyway, Mrs. Hughes has stepped out, but she’ll be back any minute. You can wait in the servant’s hall if you like.”

“Thank you,” Thomas nodded, leading Richard past her into the empty servant’s hall. She bobbed a curtsy and headed to the kitchen. 

“She seemed glad to see you,” Richard noted, giving him a curious look. “Especially given that you’ve never mentioned her before.”

Honestly, Thomas was still a bit flat footed by that. “Yes, well, we weren’t exactly bosom companions when I was here,” he shrugged. “Before the war she was soft on me, but she got over it. Wound up marrying the other footman, seeing as he’d always been soft on her.”

“You make it sound like she wasn’t interested back?”

“Not really, but it was the war and he was dying - lung injury - so everyone else wanted it to happen. Really muddled her head for a spell, I can tell you.” Looking around, Thomas wondered if he dared light a cigarette. Despite Daisy’s warm welcome, the strange sense of never having really left made him long for a smoke. He was just reaching for his cigarette case when a deep voice boomed down the hall.

“I don’t remember giving anyone permission to loaf around the servant’s hall. Who’s lollygagging at this time of -” Halfway through the sentence, Carson stepped into the doorway. Upon seeing Thomas and Richard, he stopped short, his mouth snapping shut. “Oh. Mr. Barrow. Arrived, have you?”

“Unless this train car looks remarkably like the servant’s hall, then yes, I have,” Thomas replied, forcing a genial smile. He had to fight the reflexive urge to stand at attention, as if he were still a footman. “Good day, Mr. Carson.”

The butler’s scowl left little doubt that as long as Thomas existed in his domain, there could be little ‘good’ about the day. His eyes settled on Richard. “And this would be your…friend?” He said the word as if he were talking about an embarrassing medical condition.

So Mrs. Hughes had told him. Thomas could live with that. His smile becoming a bit less forced, and considerably more pointed, he replied, “Yes, this is Mr. Richard Ellis. He’s valet to Mr. Harris for the duration.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Richard greeted the butler in his best, most charming manner.

To his credit, rather than making any scathing retorts, Carson only harumphed. “Your old room has been prepared for you, Mr. Barrow. I trust you can still find it.” Thomas nodded in acknowledgment. Despite the years away, he was pretty certain he could find his way blindfolded and half asleep. “Mr. Ellis, a room has been prepared for you at the west end of the visitor’s corridor.” 

As predicted, as far from Thomas’s room as you could get without crossing over to the women’s side. It was so expected that Thomas couldn’t even be properly outraged. 

“I can have the footman show you the way.”

“No need to trouble yourself,” Thomas assured him. “I remember the way well enough to show him -”

“Is that Mr. Barrow I hear?” a steady voice with a Scottish lilt interrupted, announcing that Mrs. Hughes had returned from her errand. A moment later, the woman herself stepped into view, coming up beside her husband with a far more welcoming expression.

This time, the smile was easy. “Mrs. Hughes, so good to see you. Mr. Carson was just giving Mr. Ellis and I our room assignments.” He half turned to indicate Richard, who nodded pleasantly in greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Ellis,” the housekeeper nodded, still smiling. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Thomas has said so much about you in his letters.” Next to her, Mr. Carson harumphed again. This seemed to remind her of something. “Although, oh dear, I’m not certain I remembered to tell Mr. Carson…”

“Remembered to tell me what?” the butler half demanded, his expression alarmed.

“When we went to make up Mr. Barrow’s room, we discovered mice had been at the mattress,” Mrs. Hughes informed him.

“Mice?”

“Yes, mice,” she repeated, her tone completely calm. Thomas would even have called it ‘suspiciously calm’, given the housekeeper’s view on vermin. “We’ve set traps, naturally, but as we’ll need to get a new mattress before anyone could stay there, I was forced to find him a new rooming assignment.”

Thomas found himself holding his breath. She wouldn’t have moved him in with Richard. It wasn’t likely that she’d have moved them next door to each other. Still…

“I thought the east side of the visitor’s section, right off the main corridor. It’s not far from the bathroom and stairs, which should be convenient.” Thomas fought to keep from smiling. The room in question, while not _directly_ next to Richard’s, was only a handful of rooms away. It wasn’t even the complete opposite side of the visitor’s corridor. Carson looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. Either oblivious to her husband’s displeasure, or more likely ignoring it, Mrs. Hughes continued. “And this way Mr. Barrow can easily show Mr. Ellis the way.”

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Hughes,” Mr. Carson interrupted as Thomas was starting to thank the housekeeper. “I would like a word with Mr. Barrow in my pantry, before he gets settled.” 

Mrs. Hughes eyed him, her expression far from trusting. For a moment Thomas thought she was going to argue, but she just sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh alright. I’ll get Andrew to stop whatever doubtless important task you’ve given him and have him show Mr. Ellis the way.”

If she’d hoped to remind him that there were more important things for the footman to be doing, she failed. Mr. Carson only nodded, then turned toward his pantry. “This way, if you please, Mr. Barrow.”

Thomas pondered what would happen if he said he didn’t please, thank you kindly, but decided that would merely delay the inevitable. With a parting smile to Richard and Mrs. Hughes, he lifted the bags and made to follow.

“Oh leave those here,” the housekeeper admonished, placing a gentle hand on his arm as he moved to walk past her. “If he’s going to insist Andrew show Mr. Ellis to his room, then the boy can drop them off on the way.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, set the bags down again, and resumed his journey to the butler’s pantry. Pausing only briefly on the threshold, he stepped in and stood in front of Mr. Carson’s desk. The other man had taken a seat. Once again there was that odd feeling of having stepped back in time. As inconspicuously as possible, he twisted the gold band on his left hand. 

He was no longer an employee here.

Jimmy was gone. So was O’Brien.

This man had no power over him.

Forcing himself to smile again, he folded his hands behind him. “Yes, Mr. Carson? What can I do for you?”

The older man gave him a baleful look. “I will be perfectly frank, Mr. Barrow,” he said, as if he’d ever been of the habit of being anything else. “I do not know why you chose to weasel your way back into our lives, or how you convinced Lord Hexham to let you do it, but I do not appreciate the presence of you and your friend.”

Of course. This was all some scheme on his part.

“It goes without saying that I will not tolerate any tomfoolery while you are on the premises. Furthermore, if there is so much as a whisper of complaint from the footmen or hallboys, I will not hesitate to call the police. As you are not in the employ of His Lordship, it can not reflect poorly on him to have you ousted from this house.”

Thomas had barely believed it when Mrs. Hughes had written that Mr. Carson felt poorly about sending him to the Clinic, but he’d taken her word for truth. Apparently the butler had made a full recovery from his remorse. He considered asking how it would reflect on the house if they ousted the friend and valet of a marquess, but after a moment’s staring contest with the other man, he decided against it. Instead he chose a route he expected to offend the butler far more. “Mr. Carson I assure you, if you think you could possibly have a man on staff, in any capacity, capable of drawing my attention from Richard, then there is something about our relationship you’ve sorely misunderstood.” He raised his left hand, spreading the fingers to display the ring he wore. “While Parliament might not recognize the fact, Richard and I are sworn to each other until death do us part, and unlike some men I can mention, we won’t be looking to get around that with a divorce.”

As predicted, Mr. Carson puffed up like a bullfrog. “You can play act at being respectable all you like, Mr. Barrow, but you will not make a mockery of honest people in this house!”

“Unless I’d like to sleep in the yard, I suppose?”

“If you continue to behave in this manner, the yard won’t be open to you!”

Privately, Thomas wondered what Mrs. Hughes would have to say about that. Or Lord Grantham, for that matter. Still, he’d not lived at Downton for a decade without learning what a losing battle looked like. With a snarl disguised as a smirk, he inclined his head and asked, with exaggerated politeness, “Duly noted. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

The butler clearly deliberated, watching him through narrowed eyes. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there is.”

Thomas braced himself. Perhaps he and Richard would be staying at the pub after all.

“While Mr. Molesley has agreed to help serve tomorrow, we are a bit shorthanded for tonight’s dinner. I would ask someone else, but unfortunately Mr. Aldridge has not brought a valet with him. If you wished to make yourself useful, rather than simply trespassing on our good graces, you could fill in as footman.” Mr. Carson presented the request as if it were the most eminently reasonable thing in the world. 

“If I wished…?” Thomas stared at him. Really? Of all the unmitigated gall, the man was asking him to play the footman, after insulting him, his husband, and his marriage? An incredulous smile spread across his face. He pretended to think about it. “Well. I’d expect you’ve gotten rid of my livery by this point…”

“As you are well aware, Mr. Barrow, we do not ‘get rid’ of livery. Not if it can be adjusted to fit another person. Your old livery is in the cupboard.”

Thomas nodded, still smiling pleasantly. “Well then! We can hope that some other gentleman arrives with a valet it will fit.” Before the other man had time to process his refusal, he turned on heel and stalked from the room. If he wished, indeed!

* * *

There was a knock on the door.

Thomas looked up from the book he wasn’t really reading and hesitated. It was probably Richard. There was no reason for it to be anyone other than Richard. On the other hand, he wouldn’t put it past Carson to send the footman to give him the boot. “Who is it?” he called, just to be safe.

“It’s Richard,” came the expected response. “May I come in?”

Putting a marker in his page, Thomas set the book aside. “Of course.”

The door opened and Richard stepped inside, his eyebrows raised in query. “Looks like you survived the confrontation.”

Thomas snorted in response, then sighed. “Yeah, although one of these days I’ll learn not to cut my nose to spite my face.”

“How so?”

Shifting over on the bed so that the other man could perch next to him, he sighed again, crossing his arms across his chest. He was well aware he probably looked like a petulant child, but it was Richard, so he didn’t care. “Well for starters I should have known that I wasn’t going to prove anything by coming here.” He recounted the conversation in the butler’s pantry, as close to word for word as he could remember it. It wasn’t really surprising to feel the old anger well up, but he was slightly shocked by its intensity. Had it always been like this, and he’d just been so used to it he didn’t realize? “Long story short, I can be as happy as I like and have all the riches of the world and it doesn’t matter. He’ll just see it as a cheap mockery.”

Somewhere during the recitation, Richard had reached out and started to gently massage the back of his husband’s neck, a soft, soothing motion. “If he was going to believe our relationship was the same as anyone else’s in the world simply by us telling him, your letters would have done the trick,” he pointed out. “That clearly doesn’t work, so we’re just going to have to show him. Go on being happy in front of him, despite his disapproval. We can do that without being arrested.”

“Maybe,” Thomas allowed, although he felt far less certain than he had at Brancaster.

“Your Mrs. Hughes is welcoming, and the under cook. And surely your miss Baxter will be polite. Would be ungrateful otherwise.”

Thomas shrugged, but some of the tension eased out of him. “Still surprised about Daisy,” he admitted. “Anyway, after all of that he asked me if I’d serve dinner while I was here, and like a fool I said no.”

The massaging hand stilled. He looked up to find Richard giving him the most perplexed look imaginable. “Why on earth would you have, after all of that?”

“Because,” he explained patiently, “If I’d said yes, I’d have gotten to spend the entire meal watching Carson try and pour Victor’s wine without looking at his beard.”

Once Richard stopped laughing, which he managed _without_ falling off the bed, he suggested, “Perhaps I should volunteer? Then I could at least report back to you how it went, along with any interesting gossip that comes along.”

“Not a bad idea,” Thomas allowed, mulling it over. If he’d said yes, he was certain Carson would have seen it as reinstating his authority over him. It would have been just like old times. Even his refusal worked in Carson’s favor, because he could go back to complaining about Thomas’s poor character. However, if Richard volunteered, the old stuff shirt would have to not only acknowledge his existence, he’d have to be _grateful_. It also meant he’d get to see Richard in the house livery. There wasn’t really much occasion for white tie on the island. “Not bad at all. Although, when was the last time you waited at table?”

His husband affected an affronted expression. “You doubt my ability? Alright, I’ve not done it since the war, but it’s not exactly difficult. I can manage.” He reached out and ran a finger down Thomas’s cheek. “And in the meantime, why don’t we get out of the house a bit, hm? You could show me the grounds, or the village is close enough. We could walk down and you could give me a tour. Get some fresh air.”

Thomas needed no second urging. He swung his legs over the far side of the bed, arranging things so he just happened to bump shoulders with Richard, and stood. “I’m not sure there’s enough fresh air in the world to get me through this trip,” he admitted, reaching for his jacket. “But I could certainly do with a change of scenery.”

* * *

“We could see the church on the way back to the house, if you like,” Thomas offered. “And the cemetery. We probably won’t get to see that tomorrow, although I suppose we could stay behind a bit after the wedding.” He and Richard were seated comfortably at a table in The Duck and Dog, each enjoying a pint. They’d spent a leisurely hour strolling through the town, Thomas pointing out such sights as the post office, the bakery, and Grantham house. They’d not been able to hold hands, of course, which had been annoying, but no one had given them any trouble, even when Mr. Pierce, who ran the small, local book store, had recognized Thomas. Apparently his departure from the area had been explained away as a rather routine change of employment. He’d simply elaborated on that and said he was acting as valet now (it had rankled to not talk about the newspaper, but valet was safer) and that his gentleman was related to Lady Edith’s fiance. 

“Is there anything in particular you want to see in the cemetery?” Richard asked, one eyebrow quirking.

Thomas paused for a moment, considering. He wasn’t overly religious. That was to say, there had to be something that came after death, didn’t there? But he wasn’t certain what. Despite that fun with that planchette board back during the war, he’d never really believed that the souls of the dead would hang around and spy on you. Still, they said funerals were for the living. Perhaps cemeteries were the same. “I’d like to stop past and see Lady Sybil’s grave, if nothing else. And you can’t really tell, when you first get there, but the cemetery stretches all the way back into the woods. You can find some interesting spots, back under the trees. You know, graves so old the families have been gone from the area for generations. That sort of thing. It’s a good place to go if you need to clear your head.”

Richard’s expression allowed that, yes, that was something that might be worth seeing. “We’ll do that, then, if you think we have time before they need us for dinner. Remember, I have to make certain my livery fits, and have enough time for last minute adjustments.”

“Oh right,” Thomas sighed. That wouldn’t be too much of a chore. Richard had been fitted before they left the house. It had only needed a little altering, and the work had been left with Phyllis (who somehow looked exactly as Thomas had expected she would as a grown woman). Still, they had better not go wandering in the woods. “Well, we can stop past and see Lady Sybil’s stone, and then maybe tomorrow-”

“Thomas? Thomas Barrow? That is you, isn’t it?”

Hearing his name as a question was starting to become something of a theme. Standing at the familiar voice, half out of habit, half out of respect, Thomas smiled politely at the man who had been walking past their table on the way to the bar. “Good afternoon, Doctor.” He gestured to Richard, who had also stood, probably assuming that one of the quality was present, and added, “This is my friend Richard Ellis. Richard, this is Doctor Clarkson. He runs the village hospital, and I served under him for the later part of the war.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ellis,” Doctor Clarkson smiled, shaking Richard’s hand in greeting before turning his attention back to Thomas. His expression was curious, but with an underlying of something else. Thomas was tempted to call it ‘concern’. “What brings you back to Downton? Last I heard you were happily settled in Scotland.”

Thomas opened his mouth to give the rehearsed answer, only to be flat footed by the mention of Scotland. No one else in town seemed to know where he’d gone, only that he’d left. “I see you’ve been talking to Mrs. Hughes,” he replied after a moment, bemused. The housekeeper hadn’t mentioned talking to the doctor about their correspondence, and he didn’t know why she would, but they were both Scottish. Perhaps she’d thought he’d be interested.

To his utter shock, Doctor Clarkson replied, “No, actually. I’d not been aware the two of you had kept up correspondence.” While Thomas floundered, trying to decide what to do with that information, the doctor gestured to their table. “Here, do you mind if I join you?” Upon receiving no response beyond both Thomas and Richard resuming their seats, he pulled up a chair for himself. Only once he was seated, and had waved the landlord over to ask for a pint of his own, did he offer an explanation. “I have an old friend from school who, while originally from England, wound up moving to Scotland after graduation. His family owned a small, private island, you see, in the Hebrides, and when his father died he had an idea for a project.”

Puzzle pieces Thomas hadn’t realized he was missing suddenly fell into place, filling in the picture of the last five years of his life. “This friend of yours, he was from medical school?” 

“Yes, but he didn’t pursue traditional medicine to heal the body, as I did,” the doctor confirmed, his lips twisting in a knowing smile. “As you’ve clearly guessed, his interest was in psychology and healing the mind, or, more to the point, determining when there was anything to heal or not.” The conversation paused as the doctor’s drink arrived.

Thomas watched the other man take a swig of beer with a strange twisting sensation. It felt oddly like being back in the island pub that first time, drinking with the other RAMC lads and suddenly realizing that he was supposed to be happy to be there. He watched Doctor Clarkson and wondered if he was supposed to feel grateful or betrayed. Keeping his smile in place and his tone neutral with the ease of long practice he said, “So, you’re the one who told them up at the big house about the Clinic.”

To his credit, Doctor Clarkson grimaced at that and set his drink down with a sigh. In the tone of someone leveling with someone else he said, “I will admit, that would not have been my preferred way of handling things.” He paused for a moment, and Thomas was content to drink and let him gather his thoughts. After all, it had all ended well enough. It was only fair to let the man say his piece before judging him. “I learned about your…situation…more or less by accident. The subject of Mr. Bates’s return came up in conversation and it became readily clear that he was the favorite for the job of his Lordship’s valet. In fact, the person I was talking with seemed disproportionately confident that he would be chosen and, with a little prying, I was able to find out why.” He paused, then added, “It wasn’t a shock, really. I had thought, once or twice, of informing you of my friend before then, but you seemed to be doing well enough, and I didn’t think you’d appreciate my meddling.”

Thomas shrugged, admitting with the gesture that the other man was probably right about that. He’d like to think that his younger, past self would have jumped at the opportunity to rush off to a Utopia built just for men like him, but in reality he’d just have likely thought the doctor was taking the piss and possibly trying to get him arrested.

“By the time it became necessary, speed seemed to be of the essence. I could, regrettably, think of no faster or surer way to see you settled in your current situation than by route of the Clinic.” His lips briefly stretched in a line that tried to be a smile, but rather failed. “I did send off a letter as well, and at least it seems to have worked. I received notification that your residency had been accepted and once more that you seemed to be settling well. I’ve thought about trying to check up on you, but…well. There’s a fine line between concern and gossip.”

“You could have written me yourself,” Thomas countered, still teetering on that fine line between gratitude and hatred. He met the doctor’s eyes and held them.

For a long stretch there was simply silence, the two of them looking at each other. Then Doctor Clarkson dropped his eyes and nodded, the faintest, rueful trace of a smile on his lips. “I could have,” he allowed. “It was cowardice that I did not.”

Thomas nodded. If the man was willing to admit to _that_ , then it seemed rather ignoble to hold a grudge. “You could write in the future. If you were curious at all.”

That brought the other man’s eyes up. He searched Thomas’s face for a moment, then smiled, a real smile this time, although not over stated. “I may do that. You are well, though?” The concern was back. 

“I’m well,” Thomas replied, dropping his eyes to his left hand and twisting the ring there, then looking up at Richard. He looked back to Doctor Clarkson, making certain the other man had taken the hint. The cant of his eyebrows said that yes, yes he had. “Just back for Lady Edith’s wedding, that’s all. Turns out her future cousin is one of our townsfolk, so we’re doing him a favor.”

“Ah, then I expect I’ll see you both again tomorrow.”

“Unless Carson has us murdered in our sleep.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** Bertie's mother is given a couple of names around the net, but canonically she is simply "Mrs. Pelham". Given that Peter wouldn't call her that and the names assigned to her are of dubious accuracy (one might, in fact, be based on a typo in a published article), I've assigned her one that seemed suitable.
> 
> Similarly, I should probably mention that Victor's last name isn't canon either.

“I hope Carson makes it to retirement rather than simply having a heart attack on us,” Robert sighed, adjusting his bow-tie, then turning so that Bates could adjust it again. Somehow he could always get it close, but it was never just right unless someone else tweaked it for him.

“What makes you say that, my lord?” Bates asked, making the necessary adjustments. “Is he working himself up over the wedding?”

“No, no more than usual. Now if it were Mary getting wed a third time, that might do him in.” Allowing himself a chuckle, Robert checked his appearance again. Perfect. “No, it’s Lord Hexham and his companion. Terribly nice fellows, if a bit more on the artistic side of things than we usually see here. Mr. Harris’s beard, though!” Robert still hadn’t quite managed to wrap his own head around it. How he’d kept it out of his tea was a mystery. One could only hope he managed the same with the consommé! “I thought Carson was going to perish at the sight. Hopefully he can make it through dinner.”

“Well, then, perhaps it’s better Mr. Barrow didn’t agree to serve tonight,” Bates noted, turning to collect Robert’s day clothes. “That might have been too much strain.”

Robert spun on his heel to face his valet. “Mr. Barrow?” he half demanded. “You don’t mean Thomas?”

Bates straightened, clearly surprised by his vehemence. “Yes, my lord. He came as Lord Hexham’s valet. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

“No. No, I didn’t.” Robert shook his head, dazed, his voice shifting from strident surprise to stunned wonder. A moment ago he’d been hungry, now his apatite fled. Thomas Barrow, back at Downton. His expression folded in consternation at the thought. “But how does he know Lord Hexham?”

“Apparently His Lordship and Mr. Harris are part of the community where Mr. Barrow currently lives,” the other man replied slowly, choosing his words with care. “I gather neither of them bothers with a valet, on a normal day, so Mr. Barrow was recruited for the trip.”

Of course. The artistic side of things indeed. He had, of course, had a full report from Mrs. Hughes, back when they’d first learned that the former footman had been sent to an asylum, and had wondered over what sounded like a claim to have upper class residents. Apparently that hadn’t been an exaggeration. “Have you seen him at all?” 

Bates shook his head. “Not really. He and Mr. Harris’s valet, Mr. Ellis, spent the majority of the day in town. I caught a glimpse of him when they got back, but there wasn’t time to talk at all. I expect I’ll see them both at dinner.”

Robert nodded. Finally starting to feel a bit more himself, he asked, “And he looked well?”

“Well enough, my lord.”

“That’s good.” Robert frowned to himself. He was glad Barrow wouldn’t be waiting on him at dinner. He didn’t think he could handle it right now, seeing the younger man in his livery, armed with a tray, as if they’d never sent him to that place. Still, it was good to hear he was well. “I suppose he’ll be at the wedding tomorrow?”

“I should imagine so, my lord.”

He would have to keep an eye out, to try and find a moment to talk to the other man. He wanted to see Barrow in person, to hear with his own ears that he had landed on his feet after…

Well. The less thought about _that_ the better.

* * *

“I am a bit sorry not to have the chance to actually work with you,” Phyllis smiled up at him from the chair next to the fire, where she worked at monogramming her Ladyship’s handkerchiefs. 

Thomas was leaning against the mantle, enjoying the ability to smoke without going out into the frigid cold. It might have been a dry December, but that didn’t make it warm. He shook his head and tapped his ash off in the tray seated on the mantle top. “Don’t be. You wouldn’t have liked me.” He glanced over to where the hallboys were setting the table. One of them quickly ducked his head and made a great show of concentrating on the plate placement. Thomas arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “I was pretty much a miserable bastard as long as I was here.” He turned his smile back to Phyllis. “I’m much happier now.”

His candor earned him another smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I confess, everyone’s always a little surprised when Mrs. Hughes shares a bit from one of your letters. They say it doesn’t sound a thing like you.” She paused, then asked, “Was that clipping about the puppies really from your newspaper?”

The hallboys both clearly jumped when Thomas laughed. “Yes it was. Hard to believe, I know.” He took a drag, remembering the look on Morrow’s face when he’d marched himself into _The Beacon_ and proclaimed that Tess’d had seven puppies. It had taken them all a while to realize that they were supposed to print this announcement _in the actual paper_. In the end, though, Richard had been so pleased to see him having a willing conversation with another person that he’d insisted they go through with it. “Only time we’ve ever used those ruddy cherubs. The down side is that now I’ll never convince Kit to just chuck them.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Phyllis protested mildly.

Since he’d spent enough time arguing with Kit over the subject, Thomas simply shrugged and let it go.

At that moment, Daisy stuck her head through the door. “Andrew just took the coffee up, so everyone will be down shortly.”

The hallboys hurriedly finished with the last of the place settings, the one boy lingering just a moment longer to look over the table one last time before he followed his cohort out of the room and toward the kitchen.

“Shall we move to the table, then?” Thomas asked, crushing out his cigarette.

“Let me just finish up. I’m almost through the G.” 

Thomas waited by the fire, his eyes playing over the table, counting chairs. “I’m surprised more of the quality isn’t here for the night. It does still count as a first wedding, doesn’t it?” Surely no one would downgrade Lady Edith to ‘second wedding’ status because of her failed attempt with Strallan.

“Mr. Pelham’s staying with his mother,” Phyllis informed him. That, Thomas had known. The man of the hour had apologized for making his cousin stay in a strange house alone, but Lord Hexham had waved him off saying that he’d plenty of experience with strange houses and he’d rather face a hundred nights with strangers than one with ‘cousin Joanna’. “The Aldriges are staying, I don’t know if you know them?” When Thomas shook his head, she explained, “Lady Rose is a cousin of the family. They live in New York.”

“Ah, yes. I remember her. I didn’t realize she was married.” They’d not seen much of the Flintshires, but Thomas had a memory of a very lively girl with blonde hair. 

“Everyone else is staying nearby and will simply be here for the wedding, from what I gather.”

Well, it was certainly more economical that way, although Thomas had never known the Granthams to be stingy when it came to weddings. Phyllis finished her work and tucked it away, then stood. With a playful smile, he held out his arm to her. Smiling back, she let him lead her to her place at the table, as if they were an upstairs couple ‘going in’, and hold her seat for her before moving around the table. He left Mr. Bates’s chair next to Mr. Carson and took the next seat down. As the rest of the staff trickled in, he looked over the faces and realized he barely recognized anyone. There wasn’t much of a surprise there, really. Maids normally left service around twenty to start families, unless they planned on moving up to housekeeper, in which case they’d want to find new houses. Mrs. Hughes was nowhere near retirement. Still, it was so strange to be sitting in the servant’s hall and not have actually worked with a single person that it was actually something of a relief when the Bateses came in. 

It would have been more of a relief if the sight of Anna’s bulging stomach had been less of a shock. “Blimey, Anna, you aren’t still working, are you?” he stared. Mrs. Hughes had, of course, told him the happy news, but what on earth was the woman doing here instead of at home resting?

“I’m not due for ten days,” she informed him, rolling her eyes as her husband moved around to get her chair for her. 

“Master George wasn’t due for another month,” her husband informed her. He had the tone of someone fighting an old fight, even though he knew going in that he’d lost. 

“I can rest after the wedding.”

Thomas privately thought she was mad, but figured that was Bates’s concern, not his. “Well, congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Anna replied, primly. 

The table finished filling, except for the butler’s place and the one next to Thomas, as Bates moved around the table. The valet had just managed to sit down when there was a familiar, deep cough from the doorway and he had to stand again for Carson’s entrance. He was slow enough standing that Thomas got a good look at Carson’s face as the butler took his place. The older man looked like he had a good case of indigestion and needed some syrup of figs to deal with it. The thought made him smile for just a moment, as the footman, Andrew walked in behind him. 

Then Richard walked through the door and all thoughts of Carson fled Thomas’s mind completely. 

Letting his husband agree to serve was, Thomas had realized too late, a grave mistake. No sooner had the other man donned the Downton livery than Thomas wanted to take it off of him again. Preferably somewhere nice and private where they could spend several hours uninterrupted. When Richard caught his eye and gave him a knowing smile, he idly wondered if they could, perhaps, smuggle the clothing into his case when they left. He couldn’t think of a single occasion to wear it on the island, where even weddings were performed in sack suits, unless you had a title, but who needed an occasion, really?

He somehow managed not to stare as Carson took his seat and they all made to follow suit. 

Thomas was pulling his chair in when Carson’s voice stopped him. “May I ask, Mr. Barrow, what you think you’re doing?” the butler asked in a tone of exaggerated politeness.

Everyone stopped and looked toward the head of the table. Most of them looked as baffled as Thomas felt. He looked at Richard next to him, then his eyes traveled to Mrs. Hughes, skipped over Carson and landed on Bates before making their way back to the head of the table. “I think I’m sitting down for dinner,” he replied, trying not to sound as perplexed as he felt.

“I find it surprising I should need to remind you that Lord Hexham outranks His Lordship.” To his credit, Carson did manage to sound mildly surprised, in a supercilious sort of way. Also faintly displeased, as if, under the circumstances, he would like an Earl to outrank a Marquess.

“Now really, Mr. Carson,” Mrs. Hughes chided, “Mr. Barrow is only acting as visiting valet. If he doesn’t wish to unseat Mr. Bates-”

“No, it’s alright Mrs. Hughes,” Thomas interrupted, pushing his chair out and standing. “It’s my fault, really. I simply forgot.” He turned his smile on Carson. He’d not _actually_ forgotten that he had the right to sit higher than Mr. Bates. He’d simply preferred the idea of sitting next to Richard to being sandwiched between Downton’s butler and it’s valet and had supposed they felt the same. There was no point fighting over it, but damned if he was going to let Carson think he was _winning_. “It’s been so long since I was a servant, you see. These things slip your mind.” As he hoped, Carson’s expression soured somewhat as Thomas switched places with Mr. Bates. Victor, of course, was no Earl, and so Richard stayed right where he was. Thomas mentally shrugged. The two of them could talk around Mr. Bates as easily as not.

Bates didn’t seem to mind the switch as much as Thomas had thought he would. In fact, the only person at the table who seemed annoyed by the whole affair was Mrs. Hughes who gave her husband a rather unimpressed look. Thomas suspected the older man was in for a talking to later, and wouldn’t it be grand to be a fly on the wall for that? If it happened in the housekeeper’s sitting room, he’d have to see if his eavesdropping skills were still up to snuff.

“Well, I hope not being a servant for _so very long_ hasn’t made you too good for my fish stew,” Mrs. Patmore’s voice proceeded the cook as she entered the servant’s hall, followed by the hallboys, each bearing trays, and Daisy with a basket of bread. She fixed Thomas with a challenging look.

It was somewhat tempting to reply with a sarcastic quip, to remind the old cook that he was easily a match for her. On the other hand, it was a very long time since he’d had to eat this late, so instead he favored her with his sweetest smile. “Quite the contrary, Mrs. Patmore,” he assured her. “I’ll cheerfully eat any fish I didn’t have to catch myself.”

“Really?” Mr. Bates asked. “I remember at least one letter Mrs. Hughes received made it sound like you were turning into quite the sportsman.”

Thomas turned to face him, three cutting remarks springing instantly to mind. Before he’d selected one, however, Richard caught his eye from Bates’s far side and gave him a smirk and an arched eyebrow. Thomas hesitated, reexamining his options. _Living well is the best revenge_. It suddenly hit him that he’d been happy before he came back to Downton. Why should let a bunch of people who had never liked him, who he had never liked, change that? “I wouldn’t go that far, Mr. Bates,” he replied, far more magnanimously than he’d originally intended. “Unless you’re talking about cricket. It’s a bit of a pity I can’t play for the house while I’m here, we’d make a very good showing. But fishing?” He shook his head. “I caught a salmon first time out, admittedly, but it was as much an accident as anything, and not worth the hours of sitting in a boat doing nothing but dangle some string into the water and occasionally change the bait.”

“I think Wilberforce was the only one of us who was even really excited about the catch,” Richard noted, smiling at Daisy as she gave him some bread. 

“Hebridean Salmon Terrier, indeed,” Thomas chuckled in agreement.

To everyone’s surprise there was a heavy thud further down the table as the hallboy from earlier set Andrew’s bowl in front of him with a bit more force than necessary and blurted, “Wait, you have a salmon terrier? Really?”

“What are you on about, Albert?” Daisy asked, giving him a queer look.

The boy suddenly looked a bit bashful. “Nothing, only me cousin’s been mad for one ever since he read about one in a Scouting magazine. I’d always thought he were joking.”

“Scouting magazine?” Richard asked, then turned to Thomas, his expression as dumbfounded as his tone. “Do you mean to tell me old Braceridge actually put that in after all?”

“I suppose he must have done,” Thomas shrugged, just as baffled. If he were honest, he was more surprised that the article had been accepted. If anyone in the Scouts knew why their former Scoutmaster had been packed off to Scotland, never to return, he couldn’t imagine them allowing him to instruct the tender young lads of the Scouting world, even from afar. He was slowly becoming aware that the entire table was giving him and Richard questioning looks.

“Mr. Barrow?” Mrs. Hughes asked, looking at him pointedly from across the table, a prim smile playing about her lips. “I feel there are, perhaps, a few details that have been left out of our correspondence?”

Feeling oddly self conscious, he glanced around, then met her eyes. “I suppose I should tell the whole story, shouldn’t I?”

“I for one am quite intrigued,” the housekeeper agreed. There were various noises of agreement from around the table. Even Bates’s expression seemed genuinely interested. 

He spared a quick glance at Carson, who sat looking at his bowl as if bracing himself for something, then picked up his own spoon. “Well then, let me just get some of this stew in me and I’ll tell you all about it.” Once he had a couple of bite fulls in his stomach, he started to tell the tale of the camping trip, as best he could remember it. Of course, since there were new faces at the table, he was careful to omit any reference to _what sort_ of community he lived in or why the Scoutmaster and the vicar were leading a camp-out together. It was surprisingly difficult to leave out Father Tim’s exasperated efforts to keep his husband grounded in reality, but he managed. It helped that Richard stepped in every now and again, covering for awkward pauses and also allowing Thomas to take a bite or two of his stew. However, he bowed out completely when they finally got to the salmon. “And so here I am with a great hulking salmon hooked on a kiddie pole meant for catching minnows,” Thomas explained, unable to keep from smiling at the memory. The others had never said anything, but he was certain he’d looked ridiculous. “It’s a good job Morrow grew up in the Lake District and knew all about fishing, even if he hated it, because otherwise the salmon would have snapped the pole in half and eaten it for dinner.”

“Or tried pulling you in and eating you instead,” Richard joked. 

Thomas laughed, then realized he wasn’t alone. Looking around, he found the entire table laughing. That was nothing new, not really, but it suddenly struck him that there was nothing malicious about it. It was like being at the pub listening to Archie do a spirited retelling of his latest dart victory. A quick, sideways glance at Carson showed the older man looking quite grim and setting his spoon down with a shaking hand, but he was the only one not smiling. Even Bates looked like he was _genuinely enjoying_ the story. He suddenly remembered standing on the beach of the bathing cove in the freezing cold, with Richard suggesting that maybe, just maybe, the other people at Downton had put together an image of him that had nothing to do with reality. From there, he remembered sitting by the fire, remembering how O’Brien had been his only friend for years and wondering if, perhaps, it hadn’t had to be that way. Once the laughter died down a little, he tentatively offered, “It probably would have just spit me right back out, complaining about how I was too gamy or some such.”

The laughter flared right back up. 

Sliding his left hand under the table, he ran his thumb over his ring. He was happy. He was happy in Scotland and he had no desire to come back but maybe, for the length of another day, he could be happy at Downton as well. And maybe the others weren’t the only ones who had jumped to a few conclusions. “Anyway, if I was going to catch a fish, I figured I might as well make an attempt at being the one doing the eating, so Morrow came up with a plan for reeling it in and between the two of us we got it to the boat. That’s when we realized we had no way to kill the thing! Fat lot of good it would be, getting it into the boat only to have it flop back out. But if we didn’t get it into the boat anyway, it might fight its way loose or break the line, so we had to hurry somewhat. Since the fish was the same size as his dog, Morrow had Richard hold Wilberforce while we landed the fish, only Wilberforce didn’t like that idea. Soon as we had that fish flopping around in the boat, he wriggled loose and, well, killed the fish for us.”

Richard gave the hallboy a smile and a conspiratorial wink. “So now you know that Hebridean Salmon Terrier is just a facetious term for ‘small mongrel that kills fish’!”

Albert grinned back.

“And from there we landed and strung the fish up next to everyone else’s catch and it was all very boring.” Thomas paused, remembering Mr. Braceridge excitedly showing him how to cook it. He decided that was a tale for another time. “Tasty, admittedly, but boring. I’d not really believed it when Mr. Braceridge said he was going to write up an article for the magazine, but I guess he did.”

“My cousin loved that article,” Albert confirmed. “He read it to me at least a dozen times.” After a moment’s hesitation, he admitted, “It’s funnier when you tell it, though.”

There was something oddly cheering in that, even moreso in the noises of agreement from around the table. He didn’t really know what to do with the compliment. “Well. Glad you liked it,” he managed. “But now, my stew’s undoubtedly half cold, so someone else gets to entertain.”

* * *

The door to Mrs. Hughes’s sitting room was open, the woman herself seated at her desk with her back to it. Having already discovered her husband’s pantry empty, much to his relief, Thomas knocked lightly on the door. “Mrs. Hughes?”

The housekeeper turned, smiling when she saw him. “Come in, Mr. Barrow. What can I do for you?”

Following her invitation, he entered the room and crossed far enough for easy conversation. “Nothing much. Only Richard was wondering if he should return his livery to the cupboard tonight or hold on to it for tomorrow? I’d ask Mr. Carson, but he doesn’t appear to be in.”

“I sent him home to rest,” she explained, after a barely noticeable pause. “It’s a big day tomorrow, and he’s been under a bit of strain lately. With the dwindling staff, I don’t want him to take on too much and have his health fail him at the wedding breakfast, like it did during the war.”

Thomas cast his mind back, trying to remember anything off about Carson’s health during his time at the convalescence home. He couldn’t. “The war?”

“I think you were still in France when it happened. He tried being the entire male staff himself and landed himself in bed. We’d thought he had a heart attack!”

“I could see him doing that, yes,” Thomas admitted, nodding. “Well, definitely don’t want anything like that to happen tomorrow. Which brings me back to my question?”

Mrs. Hughes thought a moment. “We’ll have both Andrew and Mr. Molesley to help serve tomorrow, so it wouldn’t be strictly necessary,” she allowed. “But if Mr. Ellis was willing, it couldn’t hurt and I at least would appreciate the gesture.” There was a brief pause and she added, with a knowing look, “He certainly wears the livery well.”

Thomas ducked his head, instinctively trying to hide his smile. “He does at that, doesn’t he?”

“Mm, it’s almost a pity you aren’t both wearing it. You make quite the handsome couple as it is.”

Thomas automatically opened his mouth to reply, then froze. She couldn’t have meant it like that. “I…” he tried, trying to think of something else she could have meant by the words. They’d been talking about livery and serving, so of course, she meant they’d make a handsome pair of footmen. “Well, I…” he tried again, but then he met her eye and the expression on her face, so very knowing, did not support his reevaluation. He found himself laughing, a bit helplessly, his lips curling up at the corners. 

She watched him, her eyes twinkling. He half expected her to say something utterly shocking, but instead she said, “It’s good to see you so happy, Thomas.” She stood and walked over to stand in front of him, reaching out and placing her right hand over his left. Her thumb ran over his ring, making it clear that yes, she had noticed it, and from the look on her face, yes, she knew what it meant. “It is so very good to see our angry young footman, grown into a smiling, contented man. I’ll have to find a way to thank Mr. Ellis for that, before he leaves.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” he managed to choke past the lump forming in his throat. The words were woefully insufficient, but he couldn’t come up with anything that could let her know what it felt like. To be seen. To be acknowledged by someone from his past life. If she were alive, his own mother wouldn’t have been pleased for him, he was certain of that. “For everything.”

She smiled at him for a moment, then released his hand, patting it before dropping her own to her side. “I think,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “That I speak for the whole of our staff when I say the next time you have an adventure, whether you catch the salmon or not, we’d all appreciate it if you sent a more detailed report. I’m certain I won’t tell the story as well as you, but I’ll do my best.”

Thomas laughed. “I promise.”


	5. Chapter 5

“If you keep that up, you’re going to muss it,” Thomas chided, lightly slapping Lord Hexham’s hands away from his hair.

The other man had the good grace to look sheepish. “Dreadfully sorry, old thing. It’s nerves, don’t you know?” He dropped his hands to his sides obediently and let Thomas see to his tie. 

“Don’t know what you have to be nervous about.” With a frown, Thomas neatly knotted the other man’s ascot and secured it with a pin. “You’re not the one getting married. Best man’s just got to stand there and look handsome. You’re plenty qualified for that.”

“I…thank you for that.” The other man actually flushed a bit. The tan Lord Hexham had boasted when he arrived had faded quickly in the Scottish gloom, but he still somehow gave the impression of being tanned. Thomas really couldn’t account for it.

“Just telling it as it is, my lord.” They were, after all, both married, so it should be fairly obvious he wasn’t making a pass. Just to make certain he added, “I’m certain Victor would agree with me.”

“Mm, as long as it doesn’t require me keeping completely still,” Lord Hexham allowed, his lips quirking slightly. At least he seemed a bit calmer. “He’s had me pose for him a couple of times and I’m afraid I’m a restless model.”

Thomas tried not to think of what sorts of pictures an artist would have his husband pose for. Once he’d managed that, he tried not to picture what Richard would look like, posing for such a picture. After all, he himself was no artist, and he didn’t really want Lord Hexham or Victor staring at his husband like that, even if there was nothing in it. “Well you weren’t a restless groom, so I shouldn’t think you’d be a restless best man, although really, stop that!” The other man had started absently tugging on his cuffs.

“Sorry.” With a sigh, Lord Hexham shook his head, lifted his hand to his hair, and dropped it again in the nick of time. 

Thomas was beginning to wonder how he had made it through his own wedding. Perhaps he’d had a couple of Tully’s specials beforehand?

Frowning into the mirror, Lord Hexham explained, “It’s really the wedding breakfast that has me on edge. That’s where I’ll be expected to have conversations with people. I expect a lot of ‘I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age!’ and ‘where have you been keeping yourself?’ and entirely too many knowing looks.” His frown deepened. “And cousin Joanna will be there. I know she won’t make a scene, not at Bertie’s wedding, but I don’t see how I can avoid her.”

“You speak as though she’s a gorgon.”

“Worse. She’s the moral backbone of the community.”

“Oh,” Thomas winced at that. “Hm. Well, Richard and I will both be there, and Victor and Mr. Pelham. If you can point her out to the rest of us, maybe we can come up with a discreet warning signal for any time we see her enter a room? Then you could arrange to be somewhere else. Viewing the library, perhaps, or desperately in need of the water closet?” He reached for the clothes brush to give the other man a final going over. The suit he was wearing was good quality, although nowhere near as nice as the one he’d worn for his own happy occasion. Naturally, one didn’t upstage the groom.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” the other man brightened a bit. “I wonder if we couldn’t get some of the others in on it? Lady Rose was awfully pleasant at dinner last night, I’m willing to bet she’d help out. And Edith’s met her future mother-in-law. She’s bound to be sympathetic.”

Beginning to think he’d bit off more than he intended, Thomas tried to redirect the other man’s attention before he suggested roping in Lady Mary or some rot like that. “Speaking of dinner, Richard made it sound like it went well. You didn’t seem overly anxious, and Victor acquitted himself well enough, despite being outranked by one and all.” He was never quite certain of Victor’s actual class, but he didn’t think it was high enough to warrant a title. If it was, no one had ever told him. “So you should do perfectly well at the breakfast, even if there will be far more people. As you say, no one’s going to start a scene at a wedding.”

“This is true. You are right.” Closing his eyes, Lord Hexham took a deep, bracing breath. When he looked in the mirror again, he was noticeably calmer. “Right then. I think I’m ready.” He hesitated, glancing at the clock, then asked in a somewhat plaintive tone. “Although, I say, I don’t suppose there’s time for a good stiff whiskey and soda?”

And that confirmed Thomas’s suspicions on how he’d made it through his own wedding. “Right away, my lord.”

* * *

“I’ve heard that the big papers have taken it a step further and are making plates that do full sheets at a time, although I’ve never actually seen them. Then again, I wasn’t much involved with the production side of things, just the writing.” 

“Kit, er, Mr. Nordige was much the same,” Thomas replied. He still wasn’t certain how he’d wound up in a conversation with Branson, of all people, but he supposed as the two people present who had gotten out of service it made sense enough. Of course, it was also a bit galling to find out that the village printing press was what the rest of the newspaper industry considered an ‘antique’. “I suspect that’s why he didn’t go for a newer model. Easier to figure out without training.” And they had figured it out on their own, hadn’t they? In fact, Thomas had figured it out before he took up the writing aspect, so that put him a step ahead of the other man. 

If Branson was feeling at all superior about having worked for a more modern paper, he didn’t show it. Instead he smiled and nodded, “I’m sure it is, not to mention less expensive to buy. In fact, given the size of your operation, it’s probably no more expensive to operate. Maybe less so since you aren’t burning through coal to run it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, probably trying to do mental calculations, then shrugged and left it. “At any rate, Mrs. Hughes showed me one of the issues you sent her and I have to say, you’re doing an impressive job. Mrs. Patmore had a thing or two to say about the cooking column, apparently, but I thought the whole thing was well put together.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at the image of Mrs. Patmore criticizing Fitzroy’s column, but all he said was, “Thank you. I’ll be certain to pass on your compliments to the rest of the staff.” And perhaps he’d enlighten Downton’s cook to the fact that the column she was so critical of was meant to teach beginners, not show off the writer’s expertise as a gourmet.

The other man was about to say something more when he was interrupted by an excited voice issuing from somewhere in the vicinity of his knee caps. “Daddy! Daddy, I want to show you something!”

Looking down, the men found the flower girl eagerly tugging on her father’s jacket. “Not now, Sybbie,” Mr. Branson admonished, although his voice was fond and his smile undiminished. “Daddy’s having a conversation. This is Mr. Barrow. He used to work here, and he knew your Mommy during the war.”

“Hello there,” Thomas smiled down at the little girl, carefully hiding the pang of loss that went through him at the mention of Lady Sybil. It helped somewhat that Miss Sybbie didn’t strongly resemble either parent. 

The girl smiled shyly up at him. “Hello.” Hesitantly, she looked back up at her father and insisted, “Daddy, it’s really important!”

Since it was clear he wasn’t of much interest to her, especially compared to whatever had caught her attention, Thomas just laughed and shook his head. “I could use something more to drink anyway,” he excused himself. “It’s been good talking to you.” He was surprised to realize he meant it, mostly. Hearing how out of date his printing press was still smarted a little, although it helped that the other man was impressed.

“Maybe we can chat a bit more before you leave,” Branson suggested. “If not, I hope you have a pleasant time while you’re here.” With a parting nod, he let himself be led away.

Left to his own devices and in possession of an empty glass, Thomas turned and started to make his way toward the table where Carson was pouring the wine. Andrew was standing by the table, waiting to refill his tray when Thomas arrived, so he queued up behind the younger man. He absently watched the butler lift the bottle, tilting it toward the glass in a motion so familiar that when the bottle first started to shake, Thomas didn’t quite realize what he was seeing. It wasn’t until the words “I can’t pour the bloody stuff” came out of the butler’s mouth that it hit, and even then he felt certain he was imagining things. Carson, Mr. Carson, the butler of Downton Abbey did not shake wine all over the place. He certainly didn’t _swear_. The whole scene was completely impossible and yet it was happening, right in front of him. Lord Grantham and Lady Mary were hurrying over, making sounds of distress. Carson was apologizing. 

Suddenly the previous night’s dinner made more sense. The frown and the shaking hand wasn’t repressed indignation.

Carson, the butler’s butler, was failing.

And in the process he was making a scene.

At a wedding.

The whole thing was so unbelievably _off_ , Thomas nearly laughed, because really, it had to be a joke, didn’t it? Some sort of farce put on for the entertainment of the guests? It was the sort of thing that might happen on the island, perhaps in the theatrical circle, but this was Downton. What’s more, this was Carson and Carson would never permit such a spectacle. 

Not at such a prestigious event. 

And he’d certainly not agree to be part of it.

So it had to be real. 

“I’ll pour it,” a voice to Thomas’s right said. Turning he realized it was Lady Mary’s husband, Mr. Talbot, his step-son perched on his shoulder. 

A toff was offering to pour the wine. Alright, he wasn’t titled. From what Thomas had heard nearly forty people needed to snuff it before he had a chance at being the same rank as his wife. It might have been an exaggeration, but still. It wasn’t done. It simply wasn’t done.

“No, I can do it, sir.” The words were out of his mouth almost before he’d had time to think about it. Part of him couldn’t believe he was offering, but it was overruled by the sight of Mrs. Hughes standing by her husband, looking up at him with unadulterated worry. If he allowed the wedding to devolve into a three ring circus, yes, it would reflect poorly on the family, but he knew perfectly well it was the servants who would look the worst. Shit rolled down hill, after all.

Mr. Carson adopted an expression like a stuffed frog. A particularly offended stuffed frog. “Mr. Barrow, you are here as a guest.”

“A guest’s valet, the same as Mr. Ellis, and he’s in livery,” Thomas corrected, meeting the butler’s eyes and holding them. Really, playing at footman would have been acceptable, but not this? No, of course not. Playing a footman would have kept him in his place. This wasn’t even simply putting himself on the same level as the other man, but replacing him altogether. What’s more, they’d all have to be grateful he’d done it. 

He should have felt offended, he supposed, that even in the face of clear defeat, the older man was still trying to keep him in his place. Or perhaps elated that he was getting a taste of what Thomas had felt so many times, of being pushed out and replaced. Instead it was just sort of pathetic, and a little bit sad. To think, this was the man who had ruled his life so harshly for so long. 

He waited, but the other man didn’t stand down. Perhaps it would have made him the bigger man if he’d given way, to let his old adversary have one last victory, but, well. The wine wasn’t going to pour itself. One last time he insisted, “I’m happy to help, Mr. Carson.”

To his surprise, it was Lord Grantham who stepped forward and laid a hand on the butler’s arm. “Let him, Carson. It’s a very decent offer.” He paused, then added, his words weighted, “We should be quite grateful for it.”

Carson visibly wilted, stepping away from the table. “Very good, my lord.” He turned, leaving the wine in Thomas’s care, and walked over to where Mrs. Hughes watched, her face creased with worry. 

Wordlessly, Thomas stepped in and lifted the wine bottle. As he began filling the glasses and loading them on Andrew’s tray, he was dimly aware of Lord Grantham standing there, watching him work. When he’d seen to Andrew, he turned and acknowledged his former employer with a polite, “Would you like a glass, my lord?”

“I would, thank you,” the older man nodded. Nothing strange there, except the thanks. The quality hardly ever thanked their servants, not unless the servant in question had done something exceptional. Lord Hexham had explained it wasn’t meant as ingratitude, only that if you thanked your staff for every little thing, you’d do nothing else with your life. That was a much different reason than Carson had given him when he’d started working at Downton, naturally, but Lord Gerald and Kit had both agreed. It was telling that Lord Grantham said it now.

With a professional smile, Thomas held out a full glass. 

Lord Grantham’s expression as he took it was careworn, not at all like a proud father on his daughter’s wedding day, and he looked at Thomas with a furrowed brow. “To think, if we’d been less…short sighted, you’d probably be stepping into his shoes for good.”

If the thanks had been surprising, that caught Thomas completely off guard. “Well, there wasn’t exactly room for me, my lord,” he demurred politely, only to be answered with a shake of the other man’s head.

“We could have found something,” Lord Grantham insisted. “When we learned just what sort of place we’d packed you off to, Lady Mary suggested under-butler. I don’t know that we really could have managed it. Long term, that is. But we could have found something.” He looked down at his glass, frowned, then met Thomas’s eyes again. “I feel I’ve failed at my duty to you, as your employer, and I’m sorry.”

For a moment, all Thomas could do was stare, utterly gobsmacked. He thought distantly of the review he’d been promised all of those years ago. It would have been good enough, he thought, to have them _almost_ acknowledge that he hadn’t deserved it - the sacking, the Clinic, all of it - but he’d never dreamed of an _actual apology_. “Well,” he started, trying to think of something appropriately polite to say. “The journey wasn’t pleasant, I admit, but I’m doing well enough now. Better than I’d ever imagined possible, really. All’s well that ends well.”

Lord Grantham nodded, as if settling something in his own mind. “Well, I’ll let you get to work, but I am quite pleased to hear that you’re doing well. Mrs. Hughes has kept us appraised of your general well being, of course, but having it confirmed in person…” he nodded again. “I’m glad.” He turned to walk off, then paused, turning back. “And Barrow?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“If you ever need anything, do feel free to write. I can’t promise anything, of course, but we’ll do what we can.”

Thomas suddenly had great sympathy for Alice, finding herself among talking cats and backwards knights. This couldn’t be happening. “Yes, my lord.”

There was a profound sense of relief when Lord Grantham took himself and his champagne elsewhere, leaving Thomas to tend the table and wonder if His Lordship hadn’t already had more than was good for him. It was certainly the most likely explanation he could think of for what had just happened. He was still pondering if, the question of drink aside, his former employer could have _actually meant it_ when Richard came over to refill his tray.

“Pressed you into service after all?” his husband asked, shooting a smile his direction.

“I volunteered, believe it or not,” he replied, helping to load the tray with glasses. “Turns out the fellow they had doing the job was no longer quite up to the task.”

Richard’s eyebrows hitched upward at that. “Really? I suppose it’s not too surprising. Even the best horses eventually get put out to pasture.” He picked up the tray and then paused, his face grown serious. “You aren’t thinking of making this a permanent change, are you?”

“God, no, are you mental?” Thomas scoffed. Given how long they’d been married, the idea was actually a bit insulting. “Get that tray out of my sight, you!”

The serious expression melted into a smirk and, notching his chin upright, Richard sauntered off into the crowd.

Thomas glowered, smiling, after him, shaking his head. “Touched, I swear it.”

* * *

“We'll take a cup o' kindness yet for days of auld lang syne.”

The singing faded, followed by a small sea of raised glasses and smiles. Across the room from him, Phyllis and Molesley were standing so close they were almost touching. He couldn’t fathom the woman’s taste, but if Molesley made her happy, so be it. Mrs. Hughes stood slightly between her husband and the rest of the room, as if she could physically shield him from the future. Daisy and Andrew were all smiles and knowing looks. The only happy couple missing were the Batses, which Thomas suspected was just as well. Pretty much every new father he’d ever known had been best described as ‘giddy’ and the idea of a giddy Bates was enough to give him nightmares. Not that he begrudged the other man his happiness, although he was somewhat surprised to realize it. He simply didn’t need to bear witness.

“Top off your glass, Mr. Barrow?” Albert asked, dutifully carrying around the bottle of wine. Thomas had taken himself off wine duty when it had come to the downstairs festivities, expecting Andrew to take it up, but they’d passed it on to the hallboy instead. Upon reflection, Thomas guessed it made sense, if Molesley was taking himself off to teach. Boy would need to learn to serve and pour eventually.

“No thank you,” he demurred. “Think I fancy a smoke instead.” He looked at Richard, standing an almost respectable distance from him, and asked, “You coming?”

Richard quirked an eyebrow at him. “Outside? It’s freezing out there.”

Thomas shrugged. “So we get our coats first. I’m sure we’ll stay warm.”

Somewhat bemused, the other man relented. Thomas emptied his glass completely, then led the way out of the building, stopping just long enough to fetch their overcoats from the cupboard. The night outside was, as promised, utterly frozen, with fat, lazy snowflakes drifting out of the sky. Thomas’s breath was a plume in the air before he even got his cigarette lit. “This has been surprisingly nice,” he noted. “I confess, I expected to spend the entire time hiding in our rooms or sitting in the servant’s hall just to spite people, but outside of Carson’s posturing when we first arrived, I’ve no complaints.”

“I prefer the accommodations at Brancaster,” Richard noted as he took his own first drag. Thomas tilted his head, conceding the point. “But I will say the people here are quite friendly. I think Mrs. Hughes and Miss Baxter in particular would keep you here, if they could.”

Thomas hesitated over that. “Yes, well. None of the new people know me at all. The maids and the hallboys. The footman, Andrew. Who knows what they’d think if I actually lived here? That’s probably more predictable.”

It was Richard’s turn to concede the point.

Thomas took another drag and asked, “You didn’t really think I’d stay, did you? Even to take over ol’ Carson’s position?”

There was a surprisingly long stretch of silence, but the answer, when it came, was firm. “No, not really. I just suddenly remembered that one time when we all thought you might, how you insisted that we couldn’t read your mind. Since everyone here seemed so happy to see you, I thought I’d better double check, just on the off chance I was wrong.”

“I’d hope you wouldn’t be, after all these years.”

“I’ve known enough married men to know you can always make a mistake,” Richard countered. “Even after all the children are grown and out of the house.”

“Fair,” Thomas allowed, “Although does Gordon really count as grown?”

Richard laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that!”

“Ah, what would he do about it? Tell me to fuck off?”

“And slam the door when he left the room.”

They smoked in silence for a moment, then Thomas said, “Admittedly, if they wanted to convince me to stay on, they could make a pretty convincing argument, if they were willing to hire you as a footman..” 

Richard laughed again, the warm sound muffled by the snow, creating a little bubble just around them. Even though they were standing in the open, the weather assured that they were alone. Once his mirth subsided, he gave him a playful look of reproach. “I am rather displeased that I missed the opportunity to see you in livery.”

“So am I, now that you mention it,” Thomas grinned back at him. “Hardly fair, that I should be the only one fighting to keep his hands to himself.” He finished his cigarette and dropped the butt, crushing it with his foot out of habit more than necessity, then jerked his head toward the corner of the house. “Hey, come over here a minute, will you?” Richard gave him a querying look, but followed obediently. Around the corner and a few feet down, there was a nook in the wall, just big enough for two bodies, and well out of sight of any windows. “There is one thing I refuse to miss,” he informed the other man, pulling him into the nook. “Downton or no Downton.”

“What’s that?”

“My New Year’s kiss.” Leaning in, Thomas pressed his lips against Richard’s, melting against the other man’s warmth. He purred as he felt his husband’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. There was nothing in the world that could make him give this up. Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of the period printing world comes from the end notes in Island of the Gays.


	6. Chapter 6

As Thomas secured Lord Hexham’s trunk to the top of the car, he heard the faint crunch of gravel behind him. Turning, he expected to find Richard with the remaining bags. He was rather surprised when he found Bates instead, a small hamper over his right arm. “Good Morning, Mr. Bates,” he greeted. “I didn’t expect anyone in your family to be up and about yet.”

“It turns out Johnny’s an early riser,” the other man replied, with a somewhat ironic smile. “Anna’s still exhausted, or they’d both come to see you off.” 

“The joys of fatherhood,” Thomas smirked. That was, he thought, one advantage to Gordon having come into his life at sixteen. Except for the one time when he’d run away, the boy had never interrupted his sleep. More sincerely he added, “I’m sure you’ll find it worth the lack of sleep.”

“I’m sure,” Bates nodded with an offhand smile. “And what of you?”

“What of me?” Thomas asked, somewhat confused. He hadn’t mentioned Gordon while he was here, and he didn’t think he’d talked about him much in his letters.

“Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?” Bates prompted, his tone still mild. “Happily settled and everyone so pleased for you?”

Thomas opened his mouth to say that not everyone was pleased for him, thank you, speaking as much to the memory of Mr. Bates on a dark night five years ago as to the man in front of him. He stopped, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue as he realized that wasn’t right. Nearly the entire island had shown up for his wedding, with the exception of one or two who were feeling poorly. Everyone had found time to congratulate him, even Syl. And even if someone had decided to have a chip on his shoulder, it wouldn’t have _mattered_ , because it was what Thomas had hoped it would be. It was exactly that. “Yes. Yes, it is,” he replied, substituting the truth for his impulsive lie. “I don’t know how many here are really pleased for me, for us, but it’s everything I’d hoped.”

“Mrs. Hughes was pleased, when you said you were lodging together,” the other man assured him. Thomas hadn’t been at all certain any of them would guess the meaning of that phrase. “As were Anna and I.”

“You…?” Thomas stared.

“And Mrs. Patmore, I think.” Bates adopted another of those thoughtful expressions. “If I remember correctly she said something about finding someone to keep you out of trouble, but we all took that as a compliment, given the source. And his Lordship, when I told him.”

“His Lordship?” That couldn’t be right. An apology was unbelievable enough, but to actually be _pleased_ at his marriage? “But Lord Grantham doesn’t like me,” he protested. “He’s never liked me.”

“What gave you that impression?” Bates frowned. “Other than the fact he was going to sack you for stealing?”

“I don’t know, how about…” Thomas trailed off. The trip had been so surprisingly nice, suddenly explaining that he’d done double duty as footman and valet for over a month, only for Lord Grantham to pass him over for a _normal_ man who couldn’t do the job seemed like airing old grievances. It couldn’t have just been that they’d been friends in the war, could it? He closed his mouth, brow furrowing as he remembered the previous day. Lord Grantham saying they should have found a place for him. Slowly he said, “I think I may have misunderstood some things, back when I lived here.”

Bates shrugged. “You wouldn’t have been the only one.” At his questioning look, the other man elaborated. “Anna noticed it, the other night after servant’s dinner. We’d all of us said, for years, that you’d be happier if you were nicer. Well, we seem to have gotten that one wrong way around. The truth is, you’re nicer when you’re happy.”

That would explain things too, about his time on the island and how he’d slowly settled in without even quite realizing it. He’d found work he enjoyed and people, not just Richard, but others, that he enjoyed spending time with. The happier he’d grown, the better things had gotten. He thought of Gordon, going through much the same process, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. “I think, Mr. Bates, you’ll find that’s true of most people.”

“Probably,” the other man allowed, with a bit of a smirk. Then he held out the hamper. “Here.”

Thomas eyed the object, curious. “What’s this?”

“Just a selection of leftovers from yesterday. Mrs. Hughes had Daisy put it together for Mr. Ellis, specifically, although I’d assume he’d share with you.” He paused and adopted a thoughtful frown, as if trying to remember something. “She said it was the very least we could do for him, for taking such good care of you.”

Unable to stop himself, Thomas laughed. Not long or loud, just an involuntary chuckle as he took the hamper. “Well, since Richard is a bit late getting things put together, I’ll just hold on to this for him, hm? And I’m certain he’d want you to give Mrs. Hughes his thanks.”

“Where is Mr. Ellis?” Bates asked, looking around as if he expected the other man to appear out of thin air.

“Ah, a couple of Mr. Harris’s smaller belongings went missing last night, sometime after the midnight toast,” Thomas explained, delicately. Apparently there’d been a bit more champagne available for the guests than for the servants. “A pair of cufflinks, one sock, things like that. Mr. Ellis was trying to hunt them down before we left, or before the puppy found them. Either way.” When the other man looked concerned, not surprising given the recent talk of theft, Thomas gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

“Right, then,” Bates accepted the explanation. “I should get back. I’ll need to keep on top of my duties if I want to spend time with my family. We may never meet again, but in the meantime,” he held out his hand with a smile, “Friends?” 

It seemed pointless, but at the same time, where was the harm? Returning the smile, Thomas took the offered hand. “Friends.”

With a parting nod, Bates turned and headed back into the house. 

Thomas took a moment to poke his nose into the hamper. As promised, it was mostly left over petite fours and things like that, with a packet of sandwiches thrown in for substance. Those Daisy would have actually made fresh. Closing the lid again, he thought a moment, then set it in the back seat. One of them would have to carry it in his lap to the station, but that wouldn’t be any great difficulty. 

Once again the gravel crunched beneath a pair of feet, only this time he was paying enough attention to know it wasn’t Richard. They were far too light and paced wrong. He still wasn’t quite prepared to turn around and see Lady Mary approaching. Even though he wasn’t a servant any more, he automatically drew to attention and inclined his head. “Good morning, my lady. Have a pleasant morning walk?”

“Good morning, Barrow,” she greeted with a serene smile. “I was just seeing to some things in the office before I came to see everyone off.” She drew up next to the car and stopped. “I’m glad to be able to speak with you.”

“My lady?” Thomas couldn’t think of any reason that Lady Mary would wish to speak to him in particular, but the way the trip was going he didn’t see why she shouldn’t.

“I didn’t get the chance at all yesterday, but I wanted to congratulate you on your catch.”

“My catch?” Thomas frowned at that. “Anna told you about the salmon?” While he supposed it was a reasonable mistake to think the whole episode had happened more recently than five years ago, he still didn’t see why Lady Mary would be interested in his fishing story.

The lady in question gave him a blank look that quickly became as confused as his. “I’ve not heard anything about a salmon, although now I’ll have to ask her, once she’s back on her feet.” Behind her, there was yet more crunching gravel, and this time it was Richard, making his way toward them, bags in hand. She turned to see who was coming, then turned back to Thomas with a very arch expression. “No, I meant your other catch,” she smirked, rolling her eyes backward toward his husband. “Quite nice, I must say.”

“Kind of you to say, my lady,” Thomas replied with a tight smile and polite nod, although he was fairly certain he was blushing. Really, how was he supposed to respond to _that_? 

With one, last, dare he say it, _playful_ expression, Lady Mary turned toward the house. “At any rate, it is good to see you doing so well. I hope you have a pleasant trip home.”

“Thank you, my lady. Good day.” As he watched her retreat to the house it struck him that, aside from the confrontation with Carson, that had been perhaps the least surprising conversation of the visit, and he’d have been more surprised if she’d been talking about the actual fish.

“What was that about?” Richard asked as he reached the car.

Thomas looked at him, then looked back to where the door was closing behind Lady Mary, and back. “I’ll tell you when we get to Brancaster.”

* * *

“Richard?” Thomas frowned, surprised to find his husband wasn’t next to him on the platform. Admittedly, it was fairly busy for a Friday morning, but not so crowded that he’d expect the other man to get lost. He looked back down the platform, toward where they’d deposited their luggage, and spotted the other man a little ways off. He was staring at the train, but in a sort of vacant manner that suggested his mind was somewhere else. Thomas thought he could guess where. Turning, he walked back and lightly touched the his husband’s hand. “Hey.”

Richard blinked, then turned to give him a sad smile. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

“We can still go, you know, if you’d like,” Thomas matched the smile with one of his own. He honestly wasn’t certain what he thought of meeting his, well. ‘In-laws’, for lack of a better word, although the law certainly wouldn’t agree. It would, he supposed, be all well and good if they were like Mrs. Chessman. On the other hand, if they called the police, or even simply did something to hurt Richard, he didn’t know what he’d do. He was willing to find out, though, if it settled things in Richard’s mind. 

For a moment, the other man hesitated, his attention turning back toward the train or, more specifically, toward York. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said and there was an air of finality to the word. “This was your adventure home, and that’s enough for one trip. We can always come back some other time, if we really feel the need.”

Thomas nodded. They’d left the island once, proven that they could. No reason they couldn’t do it again. The two of them turned back toward the train, stepping past the porter and finding their way to their compartment. Lord Hexham had, much to their surprise, secured them first class tickets and while he appreciated the luxury, Thomas felt a bit self conscious, as if at any moment someone was going to walk up and tell them, sorry, they couldn’t actually be there.

He must have looked slightly nervous as well, because Richard gave him a questioning look. “Alright, then?”

“Yeah,” Thomas gave what he was certain was a pretty unconvincing smile. He tried to distract himself. “Really, it wasn’t as bad a trip as I’d feared. I feel…more settled, somehow.” He frowned, turning the words over in his mind. “And more welcome than I ever felt while I was working there.”

“I really was surprised at how pleased people seemed to see you,” Richard admitted. “Given your stories. Except for Mr. Carson, of course.”

Thomas couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Yes, but even Carson wasn’t as bad as I remembered, although I’m certain he’s glad to see the back of me again. Not that it will matter, with him retiring.” It was still strange to think of Downton without the older man’s disapproving hand at the helm.

“Indeed. Another reason not to go to York.” The other man accompanied his next words with a look for pure mischief. “The sooner you’re far away and no longer distracting that hallboy, the happier he’ll be.”

Thomas frowned at that. “What? What are you on about? I wasn’t distracting anyone.”

Richard’s eyebrows rose eloquently. 

“Who was I distracting?” Thomas demanded, careful to keep his voice down. It wasn’t exactly an incriminating conversation, or at least he didn’t think it was, but the compartment door was ajar and he still didn’t need to broadcast it to the entire car. 

“Albert?” Richard supplied, his tone teasing. When Thomas’s expression continued to be blank, he chortled, “Are you telling me that after all of these years, you still can’t _tell_?”

“Tell what?” Thomas was honestly baffled.

Richard shook his head. “I’ll tell you when we get to Brancaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


End file.
